


Thunder

by Youremyalways



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cage Trauma, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Gen, Hell Trauma, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Protective Dean Winchester, Talk about hell, Thunderstorms, broment, dean stitches sam up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25150696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youremyalways/pseuds/Youremyalways
Summary: Ever since the Cage, Sam has some trouble with thunderstorms. Luckily, Dean is there to help.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 143





	Thunder

Dean was feeling  _ damn  _ good. 

He and Sam had finished off a pair of vampires clean and simple and saved a few elementary school girls and their parents. It took a grand total of two days for the entire case and both of them had walked out relatively unscathed. Rarely did they ever escape a hunt these days without at least a few wounds or casualties, so Dean took it as an absolute in. And when he told Sam with a dopey grin on his face that he was going to celebrate by hitting the local bar and checking out some of the ‘game in town’, Sam didn’t even try to protest. 

Dean tried to convince him to come at first, but Sam refused. He claimed he was tired and just wanted to get some rest, but Dean should ‘go for it, work off some steam.’ And when Sam’s mind was made up, that was that. There was no changing it. So, Dean delivered a crappy one-liner about Sam being a buzzkill and then headed to the bar by himself. 

He was two beers in when he noticed a gorgeous woman eyeballing him from across the room and decided she’d do for the night. He strolled over to her and threw her that smirk he used to melt girls like butter. She twirled her curly brown hair on her index finger as she chatted to Dean, said her name was Tiana.

He ended up buying her a White Russian and singing a little karaoke before finally they were stumbling out of the bar together, hands glued to every part of each other's bodies. It was hot, and sweaty, and fast. Just the way Dean liked. No strings attached. 

And no morning-after, either.

When round two ended, he waited for Tiana’s breaths to even out before slipping back into his clothes, cleaning up in the bathroom, and heading out the door. 

He drove back to the bunker half-awake and yawning all the way. It started raining halfway into the drive, which didn’t bother Dean much, but the storm that followed made driving a bit of a hassle. He just hated how the loud crashes of thunder made it hard to hear Led Zeppelin. 

When he finally pulled into the garage and locked baby up, he felt a warm sort of euphoria hit him as he realized he could go to bed now. Bed sounded really good. The thunder sort of became background noise as he stumbled inside, shrugging his jacket off and running a hand through his hair. 

What Dean didn’t expect was to see the kitchen lights still on. Sam had gone to bed hours ago and Cas wasn’t around at the moment, so why the hell were the lights on? Sam wasn’t one to forget crap like that. Dean furrowed his eyebrows and looked around carefully, eyes gliding through the main room. 

He swallowed uncertainty and started walking towards the light, placing his palm over the handgun sticking out of his back pocket for his own peace of mind and quick access. The sound of his own heartbeat was loud and persistent as he rounded the corner to the kitchen. He took a deep breath and then in one smooth move, stepped into the kitchen and held the gun up at eye level. 

But there was no threat. Far from it.

“Oh.” Dean stopped short, dropping the gun and raising an eyebrow, “Uh, hey.” 

There was no threat. But there  _ was _ Sam. Sitting at the table. Nursing a glass of whiskey and staring at the old wooden cabinets with reddened, tired eyes. He looked up at Dean with parted lips, surprise all over his face.

“Hey.” Sam said back, clearing his throat. He gently slid his index finger over the rim of the whiskey glass as Dean approached, “I uh… I didn’t think you’d be back til morning.”

Dean narrowed his eyes a little bit. Sam seemed nervous.

“I don’t do mornings, Sammy.” He answered honestly, a cringey smile on his face as he elaborated, “Mornings get messy.” 

His younger brother tilted his head in acknowledgment and brought the glass of whiskey up to his lips, taking a long sip. Dean felt his heart rate increase. Sam was  _ not _ a hard liquor kind of guy. Especially in the middle of the fucking night on a Monday.

“What are you doing up?” Dean asked, looking down at his watch before continuing, “I thought you crashed hours ago.” 

His watch read 4:12am. Aka  _ way  _ past the time Sam said he was heading to bed.

“I tried to.” Sam answered, shoulders coming up in a defensive stance, “Didn’t work out.”

His language was blunt, sheltered. He was shutting himself off. Dean knew him well enough by now to know that this -this short, terse diction- was Sam’s way of showing the world that he was fine. It was a way to protect himself. Shield any real emotions from the outside. Dean hated that he felt the need to use it with him.

Dean raised a brow, not wanting to push his brother, but needing an answer, “Well, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sam said immediately, instinctively. 

And then there was the loud, booming clash of thunder outside and Dean watched as Sam flinched. His eyebrows knit in together and his whole body tensed. 

“Sa-”

“I’m fine.” Sam immediately cut Dean off before he could talk, knowing that his brother had seen the reaction. 

Dean watched as Sam sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, clenching his jaw before letting it drop loose and opening his eyes once again. He was the picture perfect image of dread and fear. It was weird. Really,  _ really _ weird. Sam was a machine when it came to hunting. The guy wasn’t scared of anything (clowns aside). He’s busted into burning buildings, driven cars through houses, and cut heads off with razor wire. He didn’t turn away at the face of danger, and he certainly did not flinch at loud noises. 

There was another rumble of thunder from outside and this time it was accompanied by a bright flash of lightning that even had Dean raising his brows. But Sam… Sam visibly jumped. 

Dean watched skeptically as his brother drew a hand up to his face and swiped a palm over his mouth. He then turned to Dean before breathing out deeply and repeating for the third time, “I’m fine.” 

Dean took a step forward.

“Yeah, you look fine.” He replied sarcastically, still eyeing his brother critically, “What’s going on, Sam?” 

His younger brother opened his mouth to answer, but Dean immediately held a hand up to stop him.

“And so help me God, if you say you’re fine, I will kick your ass.” He threatened.

Sam bit down on his lower lip and looked down as he sighed. 

“I don’t know. I can’t sleep.” He answered quietly, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring himself another half a glass. 

He nursed the alcohol in his hand, gently moving the cup in small swivels so that the golden liquid made a little whirlpool in the glass. He stared at it intently and Dean sighed.

“Any particular reason?” He inquired, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sam looked off to the right and slid his lips to one side of his mouth. It was obvious he was debating whether or not to tell the truth. It took a moment for him to turn back around, and when he did, he reached for the glass and took the entire thing of whiskey down in one move. Dean raised his eyebrows, unsure whether to be worried or impressed. 

His little brother slammed the empty glass back down on the table and took a deep breath before answering.

“I think it’s the thunder. PTSD or something.” Sam shrugged, trying to make it seem like it was no big deal.

Dean jerked his head back a bit. That was about the last thing he expected to hear. 

“PTSD?” He questioned, squinting his eyes as he tried to figure it out, “From what?”

Sam’s body went rigid when another loud crash sounded throughout the bunker. He closed his eyes and flexed his jaw as it dissipated.

“It’s no big deal.” He said softly as he shook his head and reopened his eyes.

Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Sammy.” He said in his best big brother voice, “You are awake at 4:00am, you’re drinking hard liquor, and you’re flinching at every rumble of thunder that comes through here. My ass it’s not a big deal.”

Sam gave him an expression that was all guilty eyes and frowny lips. Dean looked at him seriously, feeling his heart clench at how hurt his brother appeared. 

“Talk to me, man.” He begged, “what do you mean PTSD?”

And if any and all of Dean’s focus wasn’t completely on Sam, he would’ve missed the answer. It was a short, quick whisper that was more of a breath than anything. But the words were unmistakable.

“The cage.”

Dean slammed his eyes closed and swallowed down the rush of emotions that those two words elicited within him. He took a deep, stabilizing breath before reopening his eyes and stepping forward. He finally closed the distance between him and Sam, taking a seat across from his brother

“The cage?” He asked quietly, making sure he heard it right. Praying to any higher being out there that he hadn’t.

But Sam nodded. He drew in a shaky breath and whispered, “Yeah.”

Dean nodded back solemnly before clearing his throat and reaching for the bottle of whiskey, “Do you, uh… do you wanna talk about it?”

Sam sigh and immediately shook his head, “I don’t think so.” 

Dean tilted his head and brought a shaky hand up to Sam’s forearm, placing his palm firmly over it and spreading his fingers to grip his arm in support. His brother was using that voice again. That language. He was protecting himself.

“I’ll never judge you, Sam, you know that, right?” Dean asked, because truthfully, he wouldn’t. They had their issues, certainly, but when it came to the cage and hell in general… there was an unspoken agreement between them that said ‘shut up and listen’ when the other was speaking of their trauma. It was a safe place. A no-judgement-zone.

For a second, Dean swore he saw a chink in Sam’s armor. His lips dipped into a frown and his eyes averted for the first time, shifting from Dean’s face to the concrete floor below. Dean poured Sam another glass of whiskey before bringing the bottle straight to his own lips and taking a generous swig.

Sam moved his mouth around a little, lips fidgeting, before he sighed and agreed quietly, “Yeah, I know.”

Dean stayed silent, hoping it would serve as Sam’s cue to continue.

“Look, it’s-” Sam was cut off by another thing of thunder that practically shook the bunker. It was the loudest one so far and Dean’s eyes went wide as he watched Sam jump. His brother clenched his fist so fucking hard that the whiskey glass shattered in his hand. 

“Shit!” Dean exclaimed as he saw the blood immediately start seeping down Sam’s palm. 

Sam wasn’t able to focus on his own bleeding hand until the thunder subsided. It took a few seconds for it to end, but Sam was alert when Dean jumped up from his seat and came racing over to Sam, grabbing his hand and spreading it out, palm facing up.

“Fucking hell, Sam!” He sort of whisper-yelled as he looked down at the glass shards embedded in Sam’s hand and the blood trickling down his wrist, now.

“I don’t…” Sam stuttered, staring down at his hand like it didn’t belong to him, “I didn’t mean to.”

Dean shifted his gaze momentarily to look up at Sam. He met his brother’s eyes and forced himself to relax a little when he saw the fear and remorse all over Sam’s face. He looked genuinely terrified of his own actions, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. Dean knew in that moment that he had to be calm for him. No make a big deal out if it. Make sure Sam knew it wasn’t his fault.

“Okay, okay.” He soothed, letting go of Sam’s hand for the moment and firmly placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, “It’s fine. I’ll be right back, okay? I’m gonna fix you up. You just stay here. No getting up and passing out on me.”

Sam nodded and Dean clapped his hand down on his shoulder once before leaving the kitchen. Once he was out of Sam’s visual field, he started sprinting to the medbay. 

With shaky hands, he flicked the light on and did a quick visual scan for the first aid kit. He caught it out of the corner of his eye, and just before he could get to it, heard another booming roar come from outside. His heartbeat tripled as he realized that he’d left Sam alone to suffer through it. Tears stung in the back of his eyes as he grabbed the first aid kit and several handfuls of bandages before running back to the kitchen.

Sam was still right where he was before, but his face was infinitely more pale and there was much more blood dripping down his arm and onto the table and floor. 

Dean jogged up to him and landed on his knees on the floor beside Sam. He took a deep breath and made a ‘come hither’ motion towards his brother’s hand.

“Okay, come on now.” He whispered subconsciously as Sam offered him his palm. Dean’s stomach churned a bit as he looked at it. 

There were four sizable chunks of glass wedged in his palm and a few smaller shards splintered around them. This was going to take a while and it was going to hurt like a bitch. 

“Okay, Sam, this is going to hurt.” He told it to his brother straight, no euphemizing, “Just breathe through it. I got you.” 

Sam gave him a quick, jerky nod, and then Dean was biting down on his lip as he pulled the tweezers out of the first aid kit. He took a deep breath before gently dabbing some of the blood away and going to work. He was surprised by how still Sam remained as he dug the shards of glass out of his palm one at a time. The first two large wedges, he didn’t even move an inch. 

But then the thunder came, right as Dean was working the third large piece out, and the fear struck him. He could sense the thunder coming very early- before it got too loud. He couldn’t stop digging the glass out now, he was too close to getting it out.

“Okay, okay, Sammy, I need you to take a deep breath and look at me.” He instructed, speaking rapidly, “Don’t flinch. It’ll tear apart your hand. Just listen to my voice. Focus on me.” 

The thunder started increasing in volume and Dean could hear Sam starting to breath more erratically, so he started speaking faster and louder.

“When we were little, I used to be afraid of thunder, you know that? I wasn’t scared of lightning or anything, it was just the noise. It was so loud. Of course, I hid it around dad. He never would’ve let that kind of childish fear slide.” Dean dug the third piece out and moved onto the fourth, “You know why I got over it? Because you started to get scared of it too. It was the middle of the night and we were working a case just outside Philly. You were scared shitless of the thunder and I told you all about how it couldn’t hurt you. How it was just clouds rubbing up on eachother. Talking you out of the fear ended up talking myself out of it, too.” 

Two rounds of thunder came and went by the time Dean stopped talking, and Sam didn’t flinch once. 

He was just getting the smaller shards out of Sam’s palm when his little brother asked quietly, “So, how was your night?”

Dean furrowed his brows a bit as he continued concentrating on Sam’s palm. He plucked a shard from the base of his index finger as he asked in disbelief, “You wanna hear about  _ my _ night?”

Sam huffed a breath and tilted his head.

“I want to hear about anything that isn’t hell memories and my hand bleeding. Don’t read too much into it, it’s just…” He sighed, “It’s easier to focus when you’re talking.” 

Dean nodded minutely as he thought about it. He understood.

“It was fine.” He shrugged, eyes still laser focused on Sam’s palm. He was finally on the last shard of glass, “Bar could’ve been better. Pretty cheap beer, but I’m not picky. Met this girl named Tiana.” He whistled, “Quite the firecracker.”

More thunder erupted and Sam squeezed his eyes closed and breathed out as he asked, “Tiana? Like the princess?”

Dean huffed a laugh and then spoke in a monotone, playfully judgemental tone, “I don’t know, Sam, because like most dudes in their thirties, I don’t watch disney princess movies.” 

He dug the last shard out and announced in a relieved breath, “All the glass is out, but I’m gonna have to do some stitches.”

Sam sighed and leaned back a bit.

“Awesome.” He said quietly, sarcastically.

Dean puffed his bottom lip out as he teased, “Well, next time don’t break a glass in your hand. Waste of good whiskey, Sammy.” 

But it didn’t seem to register as a joke. Sam actually tensed up a bit and his words dripped regret when he acknowledged, “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I couldn’t… I couldn’t control it.”

“Hey.” Dean brought a hand down and squeezed Sam’s knee in comfort, “I don’t give a crap about the whiskey, Sam. I was just joking. It’s not your fault, okay?”

Sam didn’t look like he was buying it, but he nodded nonetheless. Dean swallowed and squeezed Sam’s knee once more.

“Hand me the bottle.” He instructed and Sam did as told, picking it up from the table and handing it to Dean.

“Okay, ‘s gonna sting for a sec.” Dean announced in warning and waited for Sam to nod before pouring a good amount of the alcohol over Sam’s wounded palm. His brother hissed a bit, but remained relatively still. 

“Now,  _ that _ is a waste of good whiskey.” Dean quipped with a teasing smirk. Sam just smiled tightly back, the expression not reaching his eyes.

Dean took a sip from the bottle and then held it out to Sam. He tilted it towards his brother in offering and Sam huffed out a laugh as he grabbed it and took a long swig himself. He puckered his lips as he pulled it away from his lips and placed it on the table again. Dean watched as Sam’s eyes landed on the mess that was laying in front of him. The table was covered in glass shards, blood, and whiskey. He saw the guilt pass over Sam’s face and he immediately felt the need to soothe it away.

“Sam, don’t worry about that.” He announced as he started getting the supplies ready to stitch up Sam’s hand, “We’ll clean it up later.”

Sam shook his head, “ _ I  _ will clean it up, later. Not  _ we _ . It was my fault, you didn’t do anything.”

Dean sighed as he ran the silver sewing needle over the flame from his lighter, disinfecting the metal before he brought it anywhere near his brother’s body.

“It’s not your fault.” Dean repeated, firmer this time. He was starting to grow a little annoyed by Sam’s refusal to listen to him, “How many times do I have to say that? Even you said it was PTSD, right?”

Sam looked down at him, “So?”

“So,” Dean argued back, “How many people do you know with PTSD they can  _ control _ ?”

Sam’s face took on a shy expression and he cleared his throat a little before looking away. It was easier to just act like he didn’t hear it than to admit Dean was right.

“Exactly, none.” Dean answered himself, filling in Sam’s silence.

“Now, shut up and let me fix you up.” He continued with a little teasing smile before swallowing and turning a bit more serious, “And Sam?”

Sam turned back to look at Dean with raised brows and jutted his chin out in question as he asked, “What?”

“If you need me to talk, or if you need to talk through it yourself… It's okay.” Dean made eye contact with Sam as he spoke, making sure his brother could both hear and see the sincerity, “No shame in this, you hear me?” 

Sam took a deep breath, but eventually nodded. He bit down on his bottom lip as he agreed quietly, “Okay.”

Just as Dean approached Sam’s palm with the thin steel needle, another crash came from outside. It was a loud one, even for Dean’s liking. He felt his stomach drop when he heard the literal  _ whimper _ that fell from Sam’s lips. He reached out and put a hand on his opposite wrist, squeezing it firmly.

“Sam?” He asked worriedly, eyes wide as he watched his little brother squirm.

“I’m good. I’m okay.” Sam immediately responded, tripping over his words, “Go ahead.”

Dean wasn’t so sure. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and asked again, “You sure? We can give it a second if-”

“No.” Sam shook his head as he cut Dean off, “Just do it.”

Dean nodded, albeit hesitantly, and pursued what he was doing before. He held Sam’s hand open with one hand and used the other to hold down the giant slice across the bottom of his palm. 

“Here we go.” He announced right before he slid the sharp end of the needle into the bottom of the cut. 

Sam didn’t even flinch. Dean figured there was some sort of irony in that. His brother jumped so high he could touch the moon when thunder came, but didn’t so much as change his breathing pattern when his hand was poked and prodded at with a metal blade.

He was three stitches in when he heard the beginning of thunder start brewing again. He couldn’t stop right now, the needle was half in and half out of Sam’s skin. But if Sam flinched… either the needle would slice him open or the stitches would pull painfully tight, and both of those were  _ not  _ good. Dean felt the panic rise in his chest.

“Sammy, talk to me!” He practically yelled, the fear coursing through him as the thunder increased in volume.

“No, it’s okay.” Sam answered, and Dean jerked his head back at how oddly calm Sam was all of a sudden- even in the middle of a loud rumble of thunder.

“Since when?” Dean asked as he slid the needle through his skin and the thunder subsided. To his credit, Sam did not flinch or even squeeze his eyes shut throughout the whole thing. 

Sam pulled his cheeks into his mouth and blinked a few times. He looked almost embarrassed. 

Dean was about to ask again, but Sam answered before he could.

“It’s the pain.” He said quietly, almost ashamed.

Dean furrowed his brows, still focusing on the bleeding cuts and thick black thread in front of him, but somewhat alarmed by Sam’s admission.

“What do you mean ‘it’s the pain’?” He questioned.

Sam sighed and spoke quietly, “The pain in my hand is a good distraction. If I focus on that instead of the thunder, it helps. Pain is a…” He cleared his throat, “It’s a great distraction.”

Dean raised a brow. That statement definitely worried him, but he also didn’t want to go too far down that particular road right now. So, he just tilted his head and hummed, “Uh-huh.”

Sam couldn’t take his eyes off Dean's hands as they concentrated on the task in front of him. Sure the needle piercing his skin hurt, but that sharp feeling took his mind completely off the thunder. 

Dean ended up placing a total of twenty some-odd stitches in Sam's hand. He used scissors from the first aid kit to cut the last stitch. They were thick black stitches that looked sort of botched. Definitely not professional-grad. And they wouldn’t dissolve, they’d have to be removed. But for all the negatives… they were certainly better than nothing. Dean looked at his finished work and nodded to himself, acknowledging that he did a decent job. He breathed deeply and opened a bottle of antiseptic with his teeth because his hands were covered in Sam’s blood. He poured some on a clean thing of gauze and then blotted it over the closed up wounds. He put the lid back on the bottle and blew on Sam's wound to keep the antiseptic from running. 

“Almost done.” He spoke out loud as he reached for the bandages he’d grabbed and started sorting through them to find the best one.

Eventually, he found the one he was looking for. It was long and flexible. Good for wrapping and layering around a body part that moved a lot. He took it in his hand and started enveloping Sam’s hand. He wrapped it tightly and did several good layers. When he reached the end of the bandage, he tucked it in tight so that it wouldn’t shift around and stuck a fat piece of masking tape over it just for insurance. With a content sigh, he brought Sam’s hand up and looked over it one more time. Satisfied, he let it go and gave Sam a smile.

“All done.”

Sam smiled a tad bit, just the corners of his lips tilting upwards. He pulled his hand into his body and gave it a once-over.

“Thank you.” He whispered sincerely, looking at Dean with grateful eyes.

Dean sighed overdramatically, “Well I suppose you do owe me now.” 

Sam rolled his eyes and playfully hit Dean on the shoulder with the back of his good hand, but before he could get an actual word out, there was more thunder and his whole body was tensing again. Dean watched in horror as Sam instinctively reached out for his gimp hand and pressed his thumb into it  _ hard _ .

“Woah, woah!” Dean yelled, reaching forward and grabbing Sam’s wrist to yank his hand away from his wounds, “Those are brand new stitches, Sam, you’re gonna make them bleed!”

It wasn't until the thunder subsided that Sam turned to look at Dean. 

“Shit.” Sam hissed when the realization hit him. A flush creeped up his cheeks and he turned away from Dean, “I…”

“You couldn’t help it, I know.” Dean filled in, and it wasn’t malicious, it was sincere, “It’s okay.”

There was a pregnant pause and the air filled with worry and fear. Sam looked scared out of his wits. He was pale, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were blown wide. Dean doubted that he looked much better. The time on the clock now was 5:23am. Dean knew that if they didn’t get to bed soon, they wouldn’t sleep at all.

“Look, Sammy.” He broke the silence, using a calm and collected voice, “You gotta tell me what to do, here. How can I help you?”

Sam looked down and let out a humorless laugh.

“You can’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t, Dean.” He repeated, “There isn’t anything you can do. It’s just something I gotta deal with.”

“And what is it exactly that you’re dealing with?” Dean raised a brow as he stood up from the ground. He went about packing up the first aid kit as he waited for Sam to reply.

“I told you.” Was Sam’s simple response.

Dean shook his head, “No, you didn’t. You said it was the cage. But that was over a year and a half of your life, Sam, you gotta be more specific. Maybe if you tell me the details, I’ll be able to help.”

Sam visibly tensed, “I can’t.”

Dean sat back down and leaned towards Sam, “Why?”

Another thing of thunder ran through the bunker and this time Sam just clenched up his fists and squeezed his eyes closed. It was like he couldn't breathe until the noise was gone.

“Because you’d never look at me the same.” He said quietly, avoiding eye contact, “Because I don’t know what bringing those memories up will do to me. Because I… I never even wanted you to find out about this.”

“Never wanted me to find out?” Dean asked, not understanding. But it suddenly hit him like a truck, “Wait… has this happened before?”

Sam’s silence was enough of an answer for Dean.

“Sammy.” He sighed, “You don’t have to hide this crap from me. I would never,  _ ever _ look at you differently for anything that happened in the cage.”

Sam shook his head, immediately denying, “You don’t know that.”

“Do you judge me for what happened to me in hell?” Dean raised his brows as he rebutted Sam, “Or for what I did with Alastair?”

“Of course not.” Sam spoke immediately, as if even the mere thought of judging Dean for such a thing offended him.

Dean smiled a little bit. Dammit, he loved his brother for that. For his unwavering faith. His belief in Dean. His open mindedness. But he had to get back on track, so he cleared his throat and continued.

“Exactly.” He stated with a knowing look.

Sam tilted his head a bit, but Dean wasn’t about to let his brother cut him off.

“I just mean… there’s nothing you could tell me about hell that will change how I feel about you. There’s nothing that you could have done or had done to you that would ever make me see you as less than what you are to me right now. So if talking helps me help you, then…” He trailed off, gesturing with his right hand for Sam to take over. 

“Look, Dean.” Sam let out a long, audible breath before elaborating, “I know that I could talk to you about hell. I know you’d listen. But I just honestly don’t think it will help. Actually, I think it would make it worse.”

Dean felt the confusion swirl in his gut. Sam was not typically the one to brush off a good bro talk. Actually, he was normally the one  _ enforcing  _ the bro talk. Dean didn’t even know how to ask Sam to explain, so he was glad when his brother spoke up again on his own accord.

“Talking about it just drags it up, you know?” He winced a little, like he was insecure talking about this particular subject, “I already… I already think about it enough. I don’t need more. It just makes it worse.”

Dean understood partially, but a big part of him was still confused to all hell.

“I don’t mean to pry, Sam, really. I just feel like I’m in the dark here, man.” Dean shrugged, trying hard to not be too pushy, “Makes what worse?”

Sam shook his head for a moment before reaching for the whiskey bottle and taking a long swig. He placed it back down on the still-messy table and sighed.

“It’s just…” His voice was quiet and airy, “It’s the stupidest little things, you know?”

He sounded utterly exhausted and Dean’s heart ached for him. He watched as Sam flexed his hand a few times, wincing a bit as the stitches pulled. Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he watched the thoughts pass over Sam’s face. He would speak, but he knew deep in his bones that it was Sam’s turn to talk. So, he waited patiently.

And after a few seconds, Sam started to explain.

“I just want it to be gone. I don’t want to have to think about it anymore. I don’t want it to have this  _ control  _ over me. But it  _ does _ .” Sam shrugged, and now there were tears in his eyes that made his irises appear glassy, “And it’s these stupid little things… things like thunder… that bring it all back up to the surface again. I’m just… I’m so sick of feeling like this.” 

Dean leaned forward a bit on his forearms and swallowed around the lump forming in his throat before asking carefully, “Feeling like what?”

Sam’s entire expression fell. His eyes drooped down, his cheeks sunk in, and his lips parted open. He let his shoulders sag and his good hand fall flat against the table. He stared off into space with a broken look on his face as the word fell out of his mouth. 

“Powerless.” 

And oh yeah… that hurt. Dean felt his body physically react to those three syllables. His stomach dropped, his pulse quickened, his eyes burned with tears. He had to take a deep breath and close his eyes for a moment to collect himself.

“Sam,” He started, voice firm but patient, “I can’t even imagine the cage. Everything you must have gone through… but, I don’t need to know any of that to be able to tell you that you are  _ not  _ powerless.”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes a bit in disbelief. Dean felt frustration boil hot and deep in his gut.

“Hey.” He got Sam’s attention by shifting his own head to be in his brother’s visual field again before talking in a tone that left no room for argument, “I am your flesh and blood brother. I know you better than anyone else on this planet, and there isn’t even a remotely close second. I’ve watched you defy odds nobody else would’ve been able to. I’ve seen you kill big bads, save people, make a real difference. Sammy, I watched you beat the  _ devil _ . More than once. You are the damn farthest thing from powerless that there is. Trust me, Sam. I know you.”

Sam just looked down at the ground and quietly remarked, “It’s not what I’ve done that I feel powerless about, Dean. It’s the way it  _ lingers _ . It’s like I finally get a handle on it and then some stupid shit like thunder comes around and…” 

He trailed off, visibly becoming upset. Dean took a deep breath and reached out to squeeze Sam’s forearm in comfort.

“We’ll figure it out.” He told Sam with a genuine expression on his face, “I promise.”

Sam shook his head just the tiniest bit as he whispered, “It’s like Lucifer has his claws hooked in my brain, and the more I try to pull away… the deeper he digs.” 

Dean drew in a shaky breath as he watched the turmoil take over Sam’s face, clouding over his eyes and bringing his lips down in a frown. 

“Well, look.” Dean sighed, “You are never going back to the cage. Ever. Lucifer is never getting out of the cage. I think this feeling you have, this reaction… it’s pretty damn normal. It’s PTSD, little brother. I wish I could take it away, but… I can’t. Just know that you are safe, I have your back, and Lucifer cannot hurt you anymore. Remembering the cage and being scared of what happened in there is natural. It’s not weak and it doesn’t make you powerless. It makes you  _ human _ .”

Sam looked up at Dean when those last four words fell from his lips. Something had finally gotten through. He was about to speak when he paused and tilted his head a bit.

“Do you hear that?” He asked Dean, squinting his eyes a bit as he focused.

The older Winchester listened for a beat, but couldn’t figure out what Sam was talking about. He shrugged and prompted, “Hear what?”

“It’s been like what, 5 minutes, without any thunder?” Sam asked, hope seeping into his voice.

Dean raised his brows and nodded, “Think it stopped?”

Sam let out a loud breath before announcing, “I don’t know, but I’m exhausted, so if there’s even a chance it’s over, I’m going to bed.”

Dean watched Sam stand up. He closed the bottle of whiskey and eyeballed the mess on the table before standing up too. He made the decision that he would deal with the mess tomorrow. Right now he needed some z’s.

“Touché.” He agreed, and then they were both walking out of the kitchen. 

They silently walked down the hallway, and right as Sam was about to break off and enter his room, Dean grabbed his bicep to garner his attention. 

Sam raised his brows in silent cue for Dean to explain.

“I just… If you need anything… if the thunder starts again…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to phrase it.

Sam gave him a little, shy smile and filled in, “You’ll be there.”

Dean nodded, “Always.”

A moment of silence passed between them and then Sam was sighing and looking into his room. He reached out and patted Dean’s shoulder once as he yawned.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean smiled a bit as Sam walked into his room and closed the door behind him. He stood there for a moment before whispering just barely to himself.

“Night, Sammy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Keep any comments nice please :)))


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